


Forget Your Troubles For They Are Many

by Aini_NuFire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Dean Winchester Angst, Gen, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Season/Series 12, Spells & Enchantments, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 14:41:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18693571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: A spell erases all of Castiel’s bad memories—which happens to include everything related to the Winchesters. Is Cas better off this way, unburdened by all the horrible things that have happened to him. Or is it a curse?





	Forget Your Troubles For They Are Many

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a tumblr anon prompt of Cas losing his memories of the boys. They asked for angst, so here's major angst.
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine. Thanks to 29Pieces for beta reading!

Castiel sat at the bar counter, nursing his glass of whiskey. It would take far more to truly get him drunk, and the bartender would cut him off long before he could even try to drink the place dry. But he was feeling a bout of morose self-pity and had stopped at the establishment to indulge in a little wallowing. He still hadn't been able to track down Lucifer, to fix his most recent grievous mistake of letting the Devil free, and it was weighing on him. All his failures weighed on him. He took another sip.

"I know that look," the bartender said.

Castiel lifted his head. "What?"

She finished drying the mug in her hand. "Staring into the glass like it's an elixir from the gods, able to erase all your problems."

He huffed. "False promises."

He'd tried it once, during the Apocalypse. It'd taken an entire liquor store to blunt the emotions he was trying to escape, but they'd been there the following morning, with a vengeance. And a hangover.

The bartender opened the whiskey bottle and topped off his glass. "So what's your story?"

Castiel stared at the brown brew. "I've made so many mistakes," he said. "And every time I try to fix things, I just end up making it worse."

He could never hope to attain redemption. His punishment resurrections were his own form of the church's idea of Purgatory: sentenced to toiling and pushing that monumental boulder up the mountain for the chance to move on, only to fall right back down and start over again.

"Maybe you're being too hard on yourself," the bartender suggested.

"I've killed people," he confessed. "Betrayed my friends, and endangered the world more times than I care to count."

She arched a brow at him.

He bit back a sigh. He'd done it again, committed the faux pas of saying too much.

"Never mind." Fishing some bills from his pocket, he paid for his drink and rose to leave.

"Hey," she said, reaching over the counter to snag his arm. "You seem like a nice guy, good heart. Maybe I can do something for you."

Castiel wanted to tell her there was nothing anyone could do, unless she knew a way to find and trap the Devil, but he hesitated to douse her good intentions. But then she was uttering something Latin under her breath and a trickle of green magic forked through the air. Castiel blinked, suddenly feeling as though he had drunk the whole bar. She released him and he dazedly turned to stagger his way outside. Everything felt numb, floaty. The edges of his vision blurred as he drunkenly stumbled through the parking lot toward a wooded area. His head was swimming.

Castiel caught himself against a tree and sank to the ground, his eyes closing as darkness enveloped him.

* * *

He woke to an annoying buzzing. Castiel dragged his eyelids open and stared up at the canopy of leaves above him. He shifted, noticing the gravel beneath him digging into his back in certain places. The incessant buzzing continued, and something was vibrating in his pocket. He clumsily dug around for the offending object before pulling out a cell phone. He didn't even stop to read the caller ID before swiping the answer arrow and pressing the phone to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Hey, man, where are you?"

"I don't know," he replied automatically. "Who is this?"

"What? It's Dean." There was a pause. "Are you  _drunk_?"

His head ached fiercely but he didn't think he was inebriated. He slowly pushed himself up to a sitting position and looked around. The woodland was quiet, as was the parking lot to his left.

"Cas? Cas!"

He jerked his attention back to the insistent voice on the other end of the line. "What?" he said somewhat peevishly.

There was an equally annoyed huff. "Where are you?"

He looked at the almost empty lot, save for a beat-up looking truck. There was a bar, but it was early morning and the place looked closed. "I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?" the voice demanded.

He struggled to his feet and braced himself against a tree. "What I said, I don't know," he repeated irritably, wondering why he was even bothering to argue with this man. "Who is this again?"

A derisive snort sounded through the speaker. "You're totally smashed. Look, Sam thinks he found something on Lucifer. When can you get here?"

Considering he didn't know where "here" was, he didn't see how he could answer that. "Sam who?" he tiredly asked instead.

That seemed to shut the voice up for a moment. "That isn't funny," the man said next in a low tone.

Castiel sighed. "I fail to see any humor in this either."

"What's the last thing you remember?"

He reached up to rub his forehead. "I'm…not sure. My head hurts."

"Okay, sit tight," the man said, suddenly sounding serious. "We'll pull up the GPS on your phone and come get you. Don't go anywhere!" he added urgently.

Castiel wasn't sure where he would go anyway, and the man did sound oddly concerned, so Castiel eased himself back down to sit on the ground and tried to put his thoughts back in order. His head felt very muzzy, and he couldn't remember where he was going or where he was coming from. With no direction, he simply sat there under the trees and waited.

It was a few hours of solitude and no clarity before the rumble of an engine announced someone's approach. Castiel looked over as a black classic car pulled into the parking lot. Both front doors opened and two men got out, eyes searching frantically before they spotted him getting to his feet. Then they were rushing over.

"Cas!" the one with short hair called.

"Are you okay?" the other asked.

"I'm not hurt," he replied. "I'm just…having trouble remembering some things." He studied each of them carefully for a moment. "I gather we know each other?"

The men's eyes widened and they shared a rather freaked out look.

"Yeah," the taller one with longer hair answered. "It's Sam and Dean." He gestured between them, helping Castiel finally put names to their faces. "Your name is Castiel."

"I know my name."

Sam faltered at that. "Oh, okay. That's good. What's the last thing you remember?"

Castiel pursed his mouth thoughtfully. "I remember watching the Earth from Heaven…but I also remember sitting in a diner drinking coffee. That doesn't make sense though. How did I get from one to the other?"

Dean held up a hand. "Okay, so, you don't remember anything about the Darkness? The angels falling? The friggin' Apocalypse?"

Castiel stiffened in alarm. "What about the angels falling?"

"Okay, hang on," Sam interjected. "Maybe we should take this slow. Do you remember what you were doing out here?"

"I don't even know how I  _got_  here."

Sam quirked a brow. "You probably drove," he said, flicking a look over his shoulder at the truck in the lot.

"Why would I drive?" Castiel asked.

Sam frowned in confusion. "Wait, um, do you not remember…I mean, your wings are…"

"My wings are what?" But even as he voiced the question, he turned his senses toward himself and gasped at what he found—wings, tattered and  _broken_. He staggered, shooting a hand out to brace himself against a tree.

Sam and Dean both jerked as though to instinctively move closer but stopped themselves.

"Whoa," Sam said. "You okay?"

"My wings are broken," he blurted.

Sam grimaced. "Uh, yeah. That's why you drive."

Broken wings. Angels falling…

He lifted fearful eyes to them. "What's going on?"

"We don't know," Dean said. "But we'll figure it out, okay?"

Sam nodded in agreement. "We should go back to the bunker."

Castiel's head was spinning again. "Where?" he asked hoarsely.

"Um, it's our home. Our base, so to speak. It's got a lot of lore, so hopefully we can figure out what happened to you."

Castiel supposed he didn't have a better offer. It was strange how he seemed to trust these two when he had no real reason to. "Alright."

Sam glanced back at the truck. "Do you have the keys?"

He checked his pockets and found he did.

Sam held his hand out. "I'll drive your truck back and you can go with Dean."

Castiel gave him the keys, then looked at Dean uncertainly. The man seemed equally discomfited but cocked his head toward the Chevy Impala. Castiel followed wordlessly.

* * *

Dean kept casting furtive glances at Cas in the passenger seat as he drove. He hated amnesia crap. It reminded him of when Cas was Emmanuel, Sam was dying, and Dean still had too much anger festering over the whole thing to give a crap what Cas might have been going through. This was different though. For one thing, Cas knew who  _he_  was, just not them. And wasn't that frickin' fantastic.

Cas cleared his throat. "So, how do we know each other?"

"You pulled me out of Hell."

Cas shot him a startled look. "I think I would have remembered that."

Dean shrugged, not knowing what to say.

Cas fell silent for a moment. "When did I pull you out of Hell?" he then asked.

"Uh, eight years ago."

"I'm missing…at least eight years?"

"Look, whatever happened, we'll figure it out," Dean said. They had to.

They arrived at the bunker a few hours later. Cas's gaze roved curiously over the walls and fixtures as Dean led him inside. Sam came in a couple of minutes after and immediately set up his laptop in the study room.

"Okay, we need to figure out what we're dealing with," he said, declaring the obvious.

Cas, of course, couldn't give them any help.

"Do you…think the angels could have done this?" Sam postulated hesitantly.

Cas quirked a confused brow. "Of course not."

Sam glanced at Dean, both of them probably thinking of one angel who had quite the resume on this sort of thing.

Dean shook his head. "Naomi's dead."

"Who's Naomi?"

"A psycho angel who caused a lot of problems," Dean replied, not wanting to go into details. There was just too much anyway.

Sam heaved a sigh. "I think we should call Rowena for help."

Dean bristled. "No."

"She might be able to give us a place to start," Sam argued. "Otherwise we've got nothing." He gestured helplessly to Cas.

"Who's Rowena?"

"The witch from hell," Dean muttered. And mother of the King of Hell.

"She's a witch," Sam said, shooting him an exasperated glare. "She's helped us out a few times."

"And tried to kill us just as many."

Cas's eyes narrowed. "This doesn't sound like a good idea."

"It'll be fine," Sam said, glowering at Dean. He pulled out his cell and went into the other room to make the call.

Dean scowled at his brother's back. But as much as he hated it, Sam was right and they needed help.

"Come on," he said. "I'll show you your room."

Cas blinked in surprise. "I have a room?"

"Yeah, of course you do. This is your home too."

"My home should be Heaven." His brow furrowed. "And yet…I know I've spent time on Earth. I remember sitting with an older man in an assisted living home and watching cartoons."

Dean straightened as that prickled a memory of his own. "Wait, you remember  _that_?"

Cas frowned. "Yes. Were you there?"

"Well, we didn't stay to watch cartoons, but yeah, me and Sam were there." How could Cas remember that but not them?

Cas canted his head thoughtfully. "Huh."

"What other things on Earth do you remember?" Dean pressed. "Coffee, cartoons, what else?"

"Um…I think I like hamburgers. At least, I remember enjoying eating them."

Dean just gaped at him. "I was there for that too. Although, you were only eating the burgers because you were under Famine's influence."

"Famine?"

"The Horseman."

"Of the Apocalypse?"

"Yes. You don't remember that part?"

Cas gave him an apologetic grimace. "No. Sorry."

Dean shook his head. "Okay, what else?"

"Dean…"

"Think, Cas," he said more harshly. "What other memories do you have on Earth?"

Cas sighed. "Nothing much. I do remember flying around healing people for a time. But that's all there is."

Dean didn't know when that would have been. Some time before the angels fell and lost their wings. He definitely wasn't there for that.

They reached Cas's room and Dean opened the door for him. Cas stepped inside and looked around.

"Look familiar?" Dean asked, though he didn't know why; he knew what the answer would be.

"No. I don't understand why I would even have a room. I don't sleep."

_Sometimes you do_. Dean didn't say that though. He left Cas in the room and stepped back into the hall as Sam came to find him.

"Rowena's on her way."

"Great," Dean muttered.

"He remember anything else?" Sam asked hopefully.

Dean shook his head. "A handful of things from being on Earth, even some things we were actually there for, but he doesn't remember that we were there."

Sam furrowed his brow. "That's weird."

Dean shifted his weight restlessly. "I don't like this."

"Me neither," Sam said. "But we'll figure it out."

* * *

"Seems I have a lot I need to be filled in on," Cas said as they sat around the map table together. He looked at Dean. "You said I raised you from Hell. Why?"

Sam watched that flicker of haunted memories cross his brother's face before Dean swallowed and explained about being the Righteous Man and the Seals and the Apocalypse. Sam picked up the storytelling, describing how the three of them had fought to find a way to stop Lucifer and save the world, and how they'd succeeded.

But as they reached the end of that tale and Sam recounted how Cas had then raised him from the Cage, Sam found himself trailing off. He didn't want to tell Cas that he'd left Sam's soul behind, even though it hadn't been on purpose. And then he realized that the other stuff that came after wasn't good either. Cas's secret deal with Crowley, the Purgatory souls, breaking Sam's wall and going homicidal. How were they supposed to tell Cas about all of that?

And then, oh god, after that was Cas dying, coming back and taking Sam's crazy, getting trapped in Purgatory, being rescued and brainwashed by Naomi, losing his grace…the sheer amount of tragedy Cas had experienced in the past several years was staggering.

"What's wrong?" Cas asked, picking up on their hesitation.

Sam rolled his shoulder. "It's just…"

"We've been through a lot of crap," Dean put in quickly. "It's not exactly a good walk down memory lane."

Cas quirked a brow. "Worse than the Apocalypse?"

Dean snorted humorlessly. "Yeah."

Cas considered him for a moment. "But we continued to fight together?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "But sometimes you went off to do…angel things."

He winced internally. He didn't know what to do; he didn't want to lie to Cas, but he didn't want to tell him about all these things either. Without context, without his memory and knowledge of his motivations, it would be overwhelming and hard to take in.

Cas leaned back in his chair. "Logic says I should go back to Heaven to find answers or help."

Dean stiffened sharply.

Cas didn't seem to notice, gaze thoughtfully directed at the table top. "Yet another part of me feels that would be a bad idea."

"It would," Dean said quickly. "So don't."

Cas frowned in confusion. "But why?"

"The angels have become…hostile in recent years," Sam explained.

Cas's frown deepened. "To me specifically? Why?"

"It's complicated…"

"Try anyway."

Sam took a breath. "Okay… You trusted the wrong angel and inadvertently helped him cast the angels out of Heaven. They're back up there now, but even though it wasn't your fault, not all the other angels saw it that way."

"They're also not fans of the fact that you're friends with a couple of humans," Dean added disdainfully.

Cas's brows knitted together. "I can see how Heaven might feel that way." He shook his head to himself. "It's strange; I know I used to maintain a certain distance. I was a shepherd, meant to watch and not intervene. But I also have these memories of being among humanity and taking joy in marveling at your creativity and heart."

Sam exchanged a look with Dean. Why was only a specific chunk of Cas's memories missing, yet little pieces from that same time intact? Not to mention he hadn't reverted back to his old self with the memory loss. It just didn't make sense.

A knock on the bunker door saved them from having to skirt the facts of what else Cas couldn't remember from his time with them, and Sam went to let Rowena in.

"Thanks for coming," he said.

"Yes, well, only because you need Castiel to catch Lucifer," she said, unclasping her shawl haughtily.

Sam clenched his jaw and escorted her down the steps to the war room. "Cas, this is Rowena."

Cas stood and nodded to her. "I suppose it's a pleasure to meet you, but I also heard you tried to kill these boys."

Rowena arched her brows. "You really don't remember me?"

"No."

"We were hoping you could maybe figure out what caused it," Sam said. "Give us a place to start on undoing whatever it is."

Rowena shrugged and set her bag on the map table. Then she stepped closer to Cas and lifted a hand. Cas eyed her warily.

"Don't worry, Tweetie-Pie, I have a vested interest in helping you boys."

Cas continued to regard her with suspicion, but she went ahead and murmured some words of Latin. Purple squiggles zinged over her palm but didn't touch Cas. After a few moments she stepped back and the magic winked out.

"It's a witch's spell."

Sam blinked. "Wait, what?"

"A witch?" Dean repeated.

"A witch shouldn't have been able to cast a spell on me," Cas said.

Rowena gave him a simpering look. "Oh, sweetie, angels aren't at the top of the food chain anymore."

"Well, undo it," Dean demanded.

"I can't," she said. "Only the one who cast it can."

"What was it even trying to do?" Sam asked. "I mean, the partial amnesia has to be because it went screwy, right? Witches may be able to cast spells on angels, but we know they don't work the same like they do on humans."

He was most definitely  _not_  going to mention the attack dog curse to Cas.

Rowena pursed her lips in consideration. "Actually, it seems it worked as intended."

"What?" Dean shook his head. "What kind of spell causes partial amnesia?"

"It's a spell to take away one's pain." She smiled and patted Cas's cheek. "I must say it is nice to see you not looking so constipated as usual."

Dean scowled. "What are you talking about?"

Rowena rolled her eyes. "Most of the pain people suffer comes from life experiences—regrets, loss, broken hearts. Removing those memories removes the pain."

"What kind of witch casts that kind of spell on an angel?"

Rowena canted her head at Cas. "More likely it was a service that was paid for."

The room fell silent. Dean looked stricken at the suggestion. Sam, too, was horrified by the idea that Cas would have chosen to do this to himself. But even worse than that was the implications behind the results—Cas had lost all his memories of  _them_. Sam and Dean were nothing but a source of pain for him.

Rowena gave them sympathetic looks. "Sorry I can't be of help. Though perhaps this isn't a bad thing. You feel lighter, don't you?" she asked Cas. "Unburdened?"

Cas's mouth pinched. "I suppose… I mean, it's somewhat disconcerting to have this huge blank space in my mind. But if the past several years were really horrible like Sam and Dean suggested…" His eyes slid toward them, and Sam couldn't help but cringe at how poorly they'd concealed they were hiding things. They hadn't wanted to tell Cas the truth, and now it looked like he wouldn't want to hear it.

Cas nodded to Rowena. "You really think I did this to myself?"

She shrugged. "It's not exactly a spell used in a fight."

He turned to Sam and Dean. "What do you think?"

Sam didn't know what to say. He didn't want to believe Cas would have done something this drastic, without even telling them first. But then he remembered the past year and what had driven Cas to saying yes to Lucifer, and Sam knew how torturous being possessed by the Devil was. And with the Darkness about to destroy the world and Sam getting kidnapped by the British Men of Letters, their mom coming back from the dead, there hadn't been much time to really check in with Cas. Maybe he'd been suffering a lot more than they'd realized. Maybe he felt he couldn't turn to them. And that thought pressed against Sam's chest like an anvil of guilt.

He saw the same on Dean's face.

Cas's mouth turned down at their lack of response. "Then, I suppose we just…move on. Even though I can't remember, I suppose I should trust myself if this was my decision."

Dean made a strangled sound in his throat, and Sam stepped forward to ward off a potential explosion.

"Can you tell who cast it?" he asked Rowena. "Like a magical calling card? In case we maybe want to reverse it." He threw a sidelong look at Cas.

Rowena shook her head. "Unfortunately, no."

Sam's heart sank. And Cas wouldn't remember who had cast it.

Rowena picked up her bag and shawl and saw herself out.

Cas shifted his weight as they continued to stand in silence. "I regret the spell had to erase my memories of you," he finally said. "I don't think I would have chosen to forget my friends and home."

Dean turned away, radiating devastation. Because even though they were friends, how many times had the Winchesters turned their backs on Cas or not been there for him? Sam was ashamed and suddenly found himself glad Cas didn't know those bits.

"Um," Cas said awkwardly. "I don't know if I have the right to ask, but…I would still like to stay with you…"

"Why?" Dean asked bitterly. "Apparently we've brought you nothing but pain and misery."

Cas frowned. "You weren't the cause of the bad things that happened," he said with such conviction that Sam's chest squeezed because it was false. "But if you're upset that I wiped my memories, then I understand and I'll leave."

"No," Sam blurted. "No, please stay."

Cas gave him a tentative smile, but then looked uncertainly at Dean. "Are you sure?"

Dean finally looked back, meeting Sam's eyes for a moment in which Sam silently pleaded for his brother not to screw this up like they'd done so many times before.

Dean forced a nod. "Yeah, we're sure. Look, I don't really blame you for this. I get it, I do. The stuff we've seen…well, I won't tell you about it because you obviously wanted to forget it. Maybe I'm pissed because you didn't come to us first, but…what's done is done."

Cas looked sad. "I am sorry I hurt you. I'm sure I never meant to."

"You never do," Dean muttered.

Sam's heart fractured and he quickly turned to Cas. "We'll figure it out. No matter what, we're still friends."

And maybe this time they could do better by him.

* * *

That night Dean sat on the floor in the kitchen, the lights off, third bottle of beer in hand. He wasn't quite sure what he was feeling about Cas choosing to wipe almost all of his memories of his time on Earth, and, more specifically, with the Winchesters. There was anger, definitely. Shock. But also crushing guilt and regret. Dean knew all the shit Cas had gone through in the past eight years. Well, actually, that wasn't even true. Dean knew some of it, but there were a lot of details that'd either been glossed over or he'd never bothered to ask about. And who knew how many things Cas just hadn't bothered to mention. And when he did mention things…

_"I'm afraid I might kill myself."_

…Dean had done nothing. He'd seen Cas struggling, knew he was going through depression, but there had always been some other crisis happening that had somehow taken more precedence than his best friend. And it'd only gotten worse. Could Dean really blame Cas for doing this? No. In fact, Cas was probably better off away from them altogether.

_"Since the moment Castiel laid hands on you in Hell, he was lost!"_

Dean wasn't good for Cas, it was as simple as that.

But Cas had asked to stay, despite not knowing them, despite knowing he'd erased his memories of them. And Dean didn't know how to say he should go.

_"You can't stay here."_

Dean took another swig of beer to wash down the bitter taste in his mouth. He couldn't say those words again, couldn't risk the look of utter hurt and confusion on Cas's face. It was a wonder Cas kept coming back at all, even when he did have his memories. If he found out about that one time, or any of the others, he might change his mind about staying. And that might be best for him.

But Dean couldn't bring himself to do it, to sever their friendship for good.

Sam tried to tell him they could start over. Cas still seemed inclined to be their friend, and maybe they could build new memories, better ones. And maybe at some point they'd find a way to reverse the spell, and convince Cas to want to.

Dean went along with it because he was frankly tired of people leaving. Mary had left, after only being back with them a short time. She'd missed out on thirty years of their lives, but instead of sticking it out and finding her footing on new ground, she'd gone off to find herself instead. At least Cas was willing to stick around and try.

Things were awkward though. Dean didn't know how to act around Cas, although Cas himself didn't seem perturbed by it. He was friendly and curious—just not about his personal past—and he was still eager to help.

So, same old Cas.

Only not.

They eventually fell into a precarious rhythm, going on hunts, looking into leads on Lucifer. That one was of course hard to explain without divulging too much. They settled for telling Cas that Lucifer got out when the Darkness was released and now they wanted to put him back in the Cage.

Except they weren't having much luck with that. They did find a case that sounded like demon activity, but it turned out to just be a group causing mayhem. The Winchesters tracked them to an abandoned warehouse—it was always one of those—and the fight was vicious with the Winchesters getting thrown around a lot—also not anything new.

Cas launched himself between the brothers and the demons, slashing and thrusting his silver angel blade. Screams rent the air and orange lightning flickered through crumpling bodies. Then the last demon lunged and stabbed a knife into Cas's side. Cas gasped and bowed forward, but then quickly recovered and rammed his own blade through the demon's throat, snuffing out its black essence.

Dean pushed himself to his feet and staggered over. "You okay?"

Cas wobbled slightly and then glanced down at his side. Pulling the flap of his coat away, he revealed a growing red stain. Then Cas's gaze drifted up again. "I…I can't heal myself."

His knees buckled and Dean pitched forward to catch him.

"Shit, Sam!"

Sam was at their side a split second later, frantically yanking Cas's shirt up to expose the wound. "Oh god."

Dean frowned at the gaping puncture, not just because it was oozing blood freely, but because grace was glowing from it as well. "What the…I thought he stabbed you with a regular knife!"

"He did," Cas said breathlessly, staring intently at the wound as though he could will it to stop bleeding. Which he was supposed to be able to do. "I don't understand why my grace isn't working…"

"We need to get him to a hospital," Sam said.

"With him glowing like a radioactive stuck pig?" Dean retorted. "Maybe he just needs some extra time."

Cas nodded shakily, and they helped him up and out to the car. Sam dug through the trunk for the first aid kit and slapped a hasty bandage on the wound and wrapped it tightly with a towel to staunch the flow. Then they packed up and booked it out of there.

But after an hour on the road, Cas wasn't getting any better. Dean pulled over so they could check his wound, which was still bleeding sluggishly and still glowing.

"I don't understand," Cas said again, sounding frightened.

"Maybe this is a side effect of the memory spell," Sam said. "We know spells work differently on angels; maybe it messed with your grace."

Cas was pale and shaky, his mouth pinched in pain and distress. "Then…we'll have to reverse it," he gasped. "It's not worth this liability."

"Yeah, but how can we reverse it if you don't even remember who you got to cast it?" Dean said.

"We start with where we found him," Sam answered, expression staunch and grim.

Dean gritted his teeth but nodded. They had no other option.

* * *

Castiel lay slouched in the backseat of the Impala as they drove back to the bar the Winchesters had picked him up outside of. He couldn't stop shivering from cold, blood loss taking its toll. His side had been bandaged as best it could, but he could still feel his grace simmering around the edges. It wasn't healing him though. If they didn't get this memory wiping spell reversed and restore his grace, there was a good chance he could die.

Dean pulled the vehicle to a stop and Castiel fluttered his eyelids open to take in the roadside bar. The Winchesters helped him out of the backseat, and with one of Sam's sweatshirts over his shirt to conceal the bloodstains, they headed inside. Castiel didn't recognize anything and he didn't know how he was supposed to.

Dean nudged Sam and thrust his chin toward the bar counter where the bartender was staring at them. She then quickly set down the glass she'd been cleaning and went into the back. Dean gave Sam a silent look that seemed to telegraph an inordinate amount of information that Castiel wasn't privy to and then went after the woman. Sam tugged on Castiel's sleeve and led him back outside, but around back. They came across the woman just as she was slipping out.

"Going somewhere?" Dean called caustically as he followed her through the door. "It is the witching hour after all."

She narrowed her eyes and spat, "Hunters."

"We're not here to hurt you," Sam jumped in. "Are you the one who cast the spell on our friend to erase his memories?"

She flicked her gaze to Castiel but didn't answer.

"Please," Sam begged. "We need you to remove the curse."

"It wasn't a curse," she rejoined sharply. "It was a gift." She looked at Castiel again. "Don't you feel happy now? Unburdened by things you can't remember?"

"Yes," he admitted. "But there's a complication." He lifted the sweatshirt and bloodied shirt to reveal the bandage, soaking through with more blood and a muted glow.

"The spell messed with his grace," Sam explained. "He can't heal himself."

The witch blinked in surprise. "You're not human?"

Castiel shook his head, his muscles trembling with the effort to hold himself up. Sam leaned closer to him.

"Wait," Dean interjected. "You didn't know that?"

Sam, too, was frowning. "He didn't tell you he was an angel when he paid for your services?"

"He didn't pay me for anything," she replied. "Like I said, it was a gift."

Castiel squinted at her. "I don't understand."

"You seemed like a nice guy going through a tough time," she said. "When you stopped in the bar for a drink, I wanted to help."

Castiel blinked. "So, I didn't choose to lose my memories?"

"What the hell," Dean blurted. "You can't just go around deciding to wipe out half of people's lives!"

"The world is full of misery and regret," she snapped back. "I'm just trying to alleviate some of it." She put her hands on her hips. "If you had the choice to forget all the horrors in your life, would you?"

Dean opened his mouth but then hesitated.

Sam didn't like where this was headed and jumped in, "For better or worse, it makes us who we are. The good, the bad, all of it. No matter what Cas has been through, he's always kept fighting, always kept trying to do the right thing. Sacrifice should be remembered to be honored, not wiped away."

Castiel pondered that. He hadn't felt much inclination to remember what he'd lost, perhaps because he thought it was his choice or perhaps because it was part of the spell itself. But he could recognize the wisdom in Sam's words now, no matter how painful it might be to accept.

He turned back to the witch. "Thank you for your good intentions," he said sincerely. "But I need my memories back. I- I want them back."

The witch glanced between them guardedly before facing him. "Very well," she relented. She raised a hand and uttered an incantation.

Castiel felt an explosion rip through his head and he dropped to his knees with a cry. Harried voices were shouting somewhere above him but he couldn't make out what they were saying as his grace lit up like molten fire. It surged into his wound, instantly knitting muscle and tissue back together. In another moment, it quieted, and he blinked up at Sam and Dean kneeling before him, hands gripping his shoulders.

"Cas! Are you okay?" Sam asked urgently.

"Fine," he rasped.

"Do you remember us?" Dean asked tautly.

Castiel closed his eyes against the throbbing in his head. "Yes. I remember you." There was a weight on his chest again and an ache in his heart. "I remember everything."

"What about your wound?" Sam pressed.

Castiel lifted the sweatshirt and peeled off the bandage to show them it was healed. The brothers exchanged looks of relief at that and helped him to stand. His gaze found the witch's.

"I did what you wanted," she said. "Now leave me alone."

Dean took a step forward. "After what you did?" he snarled.

Castiel put an arm out to stop him. He was the one who'd been violated; this should be his decision. "We won't hurt you," he said. "But you need to stop these well-meaning deeds that steal people's lives."

"Only the worse parts," she rejoined.

"That should be their choice."

She scoffed. "The people who come to the bar come looking to forget their woes. They drink and drink until they achieve it. But then they wake up the next morning and it's all come back. And then they end up back at my counter the next night, and the next. I think it's pretty clear what their wishes are."

Castiel found he couldn't really argue with that. But Sam was right; for better or worse, everything he'd been through had shaped who he was now. And to take some of it away would be to cut out part of who he was. Now that he remembered Naomi, he knew he would never willingly choose that.

Dean took another menacing step forward. "Yeah, no, you're done."

"Dean," Castiel said sharply. "Let her go."

Dean threw him a startled look.

Castiel shook his head. "Just let her go," he repeated.

The hunter's jaw ticked in obvious displeasure, but he backed off. The witch cast them one last wary look before going back into the bar.

"She's gonna keep doing it," Dean pointed out.

"Maybe," he agreed. "But she wasn't wrong." He turned away to head back to the car.

"Hey, you okay?" Sam asked.

"My wound is fully healed."

"Yeah, um, what about the other stuff?"

Castiel shrugged and kept going.

Dean grabbed his arm to spin him back around. "You said the witch wasn't wrong. You went to the bar to drink to forget."

"It would take much more alcohol than a few drinks to achieve that," Castiel replied dryly.

"But you'd want to," Dean pressed. "If she had asked you instead, would you have said yes?"

Castiel pressed his mouth into a tight line and looked away. Would he have? Most of the time he would say of course not. But there were other times…when the weight of everything seemed too great to keep bearing…

He shook his head. "To forget everything would mean forgetting that I need to keep atoning for my mistakes. I won't do that."

Sam frowned. "Cas, you don't need to atone for anything."

He looked away.

"You don't," Sam insisted, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder.

Cas looked back at him sharply and bit out, "Lucifer."

"That's on  _all_  of us. We'll deal with him together. And if you ever start feeling like things are too much, you can come to us. We're family and family's there for each other."

That was a nice—and painful—sentiment.

"Cas," Dean said, voice laden with emotion. "I know I haven't been good at that in the past, and that's a mistake  _I_  need to atone for. Maybe we can work on doing better together."

Castiel eyed him carefully, as it was a very uncharacteristic Dean thing to say. But the man exuded sincereness and discomfort at being so genuine, which brought a small twitch of fondness to Castiel's mouth.

He sighed. "Alright."

Sam squeezed his shoulder again. "Let's go home."

Yes, home. When troubles seemed insurmountable, home was the place to lay your weary head and find rest.


End file.
